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“Tall—over six feet, dark hair, beard.” Sitting across from her, he lifted his brow. “Wait, he drives a black Ford Raptor. We’ll pass it. My things are inside.”
Reaching into the seat behind him, he held up her duffel bag. “This?”
The fuck?
He pulled her phone from his pocket and handed it to her.
“Where’d you get that?”
“From your car before they towed it.”
“I don’t understand.” Breanna slowly shook her head. “How did you know where to find me, then?”
“I didn’t. Saw smoke coming from the chimney and took a chance it was you.” He reached across the seat and squeezed her hand. “Look, honey, you hit your head pretty hard, and you said so yourself, you had a fever.”
“You were there.”
“Fever dreams.”
“I’m sure he seemed very real.”
“He was real.” Tears welling, she bit her lip. “I met him at Hank’s—that place right off the highway. He was making fun of my girly car. Said I’d slide right off the mountain in it.”
“You almost did.” The portly sheriff chuckled. “You’ve seen The Wizard of Oz, haven’t you?”
“Of course.”
“You know how Dorothy wakes up at the end and recognizes her friends were the scarecrow, the tin man, and the lion?”
“You think that’s what happened to me?”
He patted her shoulder. “Makes sense, don’t it?”
No.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
Static came over the two-way radio. Pushing a button, he spoke into it, “Yeah, I got her. Heading there now.” He turned his head toward her and gently smiled. “He’s been so concerned about you. Ready?”
Breanna nodded, and the truck pulled away from the little cabin.
A tear slid down her cheek.
You were real.
She wiped it away.
Hidden from view in a thicket of trees about thirty yards from the cabin, Ian watched her get into Jordy’s truck. The husky sat sniffing at his feet.
I’ll be looking out for you, princess.
“C’mon, girl. Let’s go.”
He turned around, the dog faithfully following him up the mountain.
Snow crunched under the truck tires beneath her. A thick, heavy layer of vanilla frosting, it clung to boughs of pine. Gazing out the window, Breanna swiped at her cheek and looked for some kind of sign she hadn’t lost her mind. But there were none.
No footprints.
